


Pretty and petty and gay

by WhyDoBirdsSingSoGay (ISawYourGhostTonight)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, he's just such a petty demon, listen it's so fluffy okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 13:18:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20154238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ISawYourGhostTonight/pseuds/WhyDoBirdsSingSoGay
Summary: Subtitle : Crowley is the cutest and he hates itAziraphale likes to know that Crowley always carries the key to their cottage, because it makes him feel at ease. Crowley hates to carry the key because of the tiny pockets in the women's jeans he likes to wear.





	Pretty and petty and gay

It took a while for Aziraphale to notice that Crowley always made him carry his keys.

Aziraphale had insisted on getting actual keys to their cottage, arguing against Crowley's scoffs that they were a strong symbol of their relationship, and that even though they didn't need any locks to protect the house, the idea that they could both carry the keys to their shared haven was too lovely to pass on. Relentless discussions and spontaneous lectures on the nature of human tradition got the best of Crowley, although he always made a point of rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses as Aziraphale locked the door behind them when they went out. 

Sometimes, Crowley would wait a couple hours and hand his key to Aziraphale at some point during lunch, or halfway through the walk they liked to take around the lake. On rare occasion, it wouldn't take three steps out of the cottage before Crowley's single key jangled against Aziraphale's messy set in his pocket. Usually, though, Crowley was good about his key. He would readjust it in his pocket a few times during the day, and it wasn't until the sun started to pale that Aziraphale felt cold metal press against his palm. Perhaps that was the reason why Aziraphale hadn't picked up on it, Crowley had been careful to not make it look like a habit, breaking the patterns when he caught himself getting rid of the key around the same time of day.

Not that it bothered Aziraphale, per se. The main reason he wanted the keys in the first place was so that he'd always know, in the back of his mind, that Crowley could come home. A key is a powerful tool. It's quite simple, really mundane; yet somewhat poetic. Especially when only two of them existed and could only be used to unlocke their hard-won sanctuary. Thinking about Crowley holding the key to the home they had created for themselves put Aziraphale at ease, it was as simple as that.

However, Aziraphale hadn't really realised they never actually spent time apart anymore. Whenever one of them was out, the other was walking alongside him, so, realistically, there was no need for Crowley to physically carry his key. It was fine. It didn't bother him in the slightest. It was quite unreasonable, actually, to make Crowley carry the key when you thought about it. It didn't make sense for it to bother Aziraphale.

Except, it did. And he knew Crowley knew it too, because although he would inevitably give the keys to Aziraphale once they were out, he always made a point of taking them outside with them. Actually, that's how it dawned on him. Aziraphale would always watch Crowley take his keys from the glass bowl that was set on the dresser when they went out, but when they came back home, Crowley wouldn't even go near the dresser, and Aziraphale was the one who put both Crowley’s key and his own set back in their bowl. When he noticed it for the first time, he frowned and froze near the dresser, the set of keys he'd used to open the door in his hand, and Crowley's single key heavy in his pocket.

« Crowley ? », he asked, tentatively.

« Angel ? », Crowley answered, slightly mocking his unsteady tone while taking off his jacket. As silence followed, Crowley frowned, worried, and turned around. « What's wrong ? »

Aziraphale was still holding up his set of keys in his right hand, but he had also fished Crowley's from his pocket with his left. With the messy jumble of keys and keychains in one hand, close to his face, and the single front-door key attached to a little plushy snake in the other, Aziraphale looked like a depiction of Justice holding a scale. Although in that moment, he didn't look nearly as dignified as her. He was still frowning, as if the keys had said something really puzzling and he was waiting for them to repeat it.

He was actually focussing really hard on all the times he remembered coming home with Crowley, to find out if there was even just one time when he walked to the dresser to leave his key there, before walking to the coat rack to hang his jacket.

« Why do you always make me carry your key ? »

The frown and the uneasy tone in Aziraphale's voice when he had called him had Crowley believe something bad had somehow happened within the few seconds he had let Aziraphale out of his sight. The stiffness in his shoulders disappeared when he heard the harmless question leave Aziraphale's mouth. He would have laughed had it not been for the fact he now had to humiliate himself by answering.

Crowley sighed, looking up at the ceiling, visibly trying not to cringe in an effort to prevent Aziraphale from seeing how annoyed he was at the question. If Aziraphale saw a possibility to irritate him, Crowley knew he would take it. The bastard.

« I just don't understand ! » Aziraphale rambled on, delicately setting the keys in the bowl as if not to scare Crowley away with loud noises. « It's not like you don't have anywhere to put them, and you never forget them when we leave the house so you must know I like you carrying them around ! »

After all these years, Aziraphale still surprised Crowley when he noticed the kind of details he thought he was hiding really well. One day he would have to face the fact that no matter how infuriating it was, the angel wasn't as oblivious as he liked to believe.

Aziraphale took a sharp breath and kept babbling, which gave Crowley some time to figure out how to lie his way out of this conversation. His brilliant plan -which involved an analysis of snakes' sensitivity to small, cold metal objects- brilliantly fell on its brilliant ass when Aziraphale's meanderings lead him to mutter that even women's jeans had pockets, and so Crowley didn't have any excuse not to carry the bloody keys in them.

« Oh no, no, no ! » Crowley cut in with an accusing finger pointed at Aziraphale. « Don't you talk to me about the poor excuse for pockets on women's jeans ! », he shouted, gesturing to the women’s skinny jeans he was wearing. « You can’t comfortably fit anything in there. »

Aziraphale's rambling stopped short and his eyebrows shot up at the unnecessary venom in Crowley's tone.

Crowley bit his tongue, closed his eyes and tried to calm down. This was a suspicious outburst, even for him. He knew the cogs of Aziraphale's mind were turning so fast that imaginary steam was leaving his brain through his ears. Crowley tried praying to anyone, anything that could prevent Aziraphale from putting two and two together.

« Wait a minute. » A beaming smile slowly found its way on Aziraphale's stupid face. He abandoned the keys on the dresser. « Aren't you the one who invented women's tiny jeans pockets ? »

Why did Aziraphale have to have such good memory ?

« I was drunk and now I hate myself, can we move on ? » Crowley groaned petulantly, already walking away from their living room to the kitchen. He didn’t want to talk about how he so splendidly screwed himself over in one of his many desperate attempts to bring demonic mischief on Earth.

Aziraphale followed Crowley, positively glowing with fondness and trepidation. « Aw Crowley ! Were you trying to be Evil ? » A spark of delight shone in Aziraphale teasing eyes on that last word.

« Shut up. » Crowley muttered while rummaging through the cupboards, looking through every item as if his lost dignity was hiding amongst the wine glasses.

Aziraphale was standing in the middle of the kitchen, watching Crowley busy himself so he didn't have to face his past (hilarious) mistakes. He would be lying if he said he didn't feel a surge of love for the demon when he realised how harmless his attempt to spread Evil on Earth had been. He never forgot about their theoretically contradictory nature, even when their lives looked and felt more and more human, here, in the cottage by the lake. He knew that Crowley's wings bore the colour of corruption and vice, while his were as untainted as the day God created them. But Crowley wasn't just any demon. He wasn't cruel or monstrous, he probably wasn't even dangerous, really. Lazy, irritable, cynical, sure. But he was absolutely incapable of being Bad. Aziraphale had just been reminded of it in the most adorable way.

The peaceful silence behind Crowley infuriated him. He knew what was going on his Aziraphale's head even before he turned around to see his face idiotically sparkle with affection. He ignored the way his heart jumped when he looked into Aziraphale's kind eyes and yelled at him a little to restore some balance in this kitchen :

« Don't look at me like I'm some...some puppy incapable of wickedness ! » Crowley's nose scrunched up on the word « puppy » and he pronounced like an insult. « I was drunk ! » He threw his arms in the air as if being drunk was the ultimate excuse for being such a pathetic agent of chaos and destruction. Well, he was decent at chaos-making, they had to give him that.

« Oh ! » Aziraphale tried to hide his smile behind a surprised expression, as if he was an archeologist waiting for some dinosaur's bone to teach him anything new and interesting. « Well, what sort of wickedness have you been up to then, during the last millenia ? »

Crowley's eyes became suspicious slits as he frowned slightly. Aziraphale was clearly taking the piss, trying to get him to confess to more humiliating attempts at being Bad. He didn't need to be reminded that his demonic tendencies were the weakest he'd even encountered in the pits of Hell.

« I'm not making you a list, I don't even remember most of it. » He tried to dodge the bullet, keeping his voice steady.

« Well, the last century, then ! » Aziraphale was back to his natural excited self, leaving some of that merry teasing behind, and Crowley had to fight himself not to find it charming.

He shook his head instead, knowing full well that Aziraphale's fond expression would get him to spill his biggest secrets if he asked nicely. Aziraphale was too good at pestering him and it drove Crowley crazy. How was it that someone with such good intentions could be so irritating ?

He took a deep breath and pointedly looked out the window so that he didn't have to face Aziraphale's eyes. He was sure he would find joy and affection and admiration in them and he couldn't deal with it, just now. If the sound of his voice alone made him want to spill his guts, what would his eyes make him do ? He might be a pathetic demon but he still had some kind of reputation to uphold.

« You know, that button on alarm clocks you can press to make the alarm stop and go off again a few seconds later ? » he muttered, embarrassed, yet unable to stop himself. He hated the look he knew (even without looking, as he focussed really hard to do) was on Aziraphale's face. He despised it almost as much as he loved him.

« You invented the snooze button ? » Crowley could hear the disbelief in Aziraphale's voice, and soon, his ears were filled with the lovely sound of his laughter.

« What else ? » Aziraphale demanded, and when Crowley looked back at him, he was overwhelmed by how delighted he sounded, how fondly he looked at him.

He didn't even try to stop himself before saying : « Loose glitter. That shit gets everywhere, you can never get rid of it. When you think it's finally gone, you find a speck in a corner of your bathroom and it's like it's perpetually repopulating the place. » The hard edge he had tried to give his words left them before he was done speaking.

Crowley knew Aziraphale was restraining from commenting or cooing at his words, because he was aware of walking a fine line. A step in the wrong direction would put an end to the conversation. He couldn't make Crowley feel like he was patronizing him. He tried to keep the affection in his eyes to manageable levels for the demon to process but he could feel love pouring out of him. What could he say, he couldn't help it. As an angel, he was prone to loving every being in the Universe, but with Crowley, that tendency seemed to get out of proportion. It wasn't his fault, really. If Crowley wasn't so loveable they wouldn't have this problem.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, tried to see past his glasses and remembered suddenly the reason why, for most of his life, he had needed to at least try to spread Evil on the planet. How painful it must have been to be given a role you knew you weren't fit to fulfil. His wings might bore the colour of corruption and vice, but Crowley wasn't the one who chose to leave his pure-white feathers behind. He hadn’t fallen because he was sinful, but then he had been made to sin by his peers. 

It made Crowley beautiful to Aziraphale's eyes, his failed attempts to be Bad, but to Crowley it was a failure. A failure to fit in with Hell and its occupants, a failure to be who people told him he was. The huge smile on Aziraphale's face started to dim to casual proportions. It wasn’t like earlier, when Aziraphale calmed himself down to make Crowley confess. It was a heavier transformation. Crowley felt the shift in Aziraphale's composure more than he saw it, the borderline hysterical excitement left his eyes but he still looked cheery when he asked, again, softly : « What else ? »

From the new expression on his face, Crowley knew that Aziraphale got it. How difficult it was for him to feel loved for something that granted him mockery and disdain from his fellow demons. He gave up on trying to sound harsh or annoyed and took a step closer to Aziraphale. Something different was happening now that the novelty of his statements had worn off, something that made Crowley's shoulder tense up and his heart race.

« The sock that always seems to go missing after you've done your laundry, and you're left with a solitary sock. That drives human nuts sometimes. The sock does go missing, it gets teleported away. I teleport it away. » Crowley said, evenly, looking intently at Aziraphale to catch his reaction.

Aziraphale wasn't laughing anymore, but a small, affectionate smile was playing on his lips. He looked back into what he could make of Crowley's eyes behind the dark frames. Crowley was expecting a joke, a half-meant sarcasm, a chuckle, anything other than Aziraphale's quiet voice whispering « I love you, Crowley. »

Crowley looked back at Aziraphale through his initial shock, Aziraphale’s face was as honest as it got, unguarded and absolutely full of love and admiration. If Crowley could blush he would have, he was pretty sure. Instead, he smiled softly while walking the rest of the way to Aziraphale. He delicately took his face in his hands and kissed him devotedly, using his lips to communicate what his words consistently failed to.

It was a funny thing, how they technically didn't need to breath, yet kissing always left them breathless. Crowley pressed his forehead against Aziraphale's, breathing in all the care and affection Aziraphale felt for him and trying to convey how much he cherished him in return.

Naturally, Aziraphale found his way to his assigned place, his face tucked in the nook of Crowley's neck, his thumbs drawing circles on Crowley's back. Crowley hugged Aziraphale into him, rocking them ever so slightly. As he inhaled deeply he rested his cheek against Aziraphale's hair and he let himself feel loved.

« Hey, at least I didn't invent Crocs. » Crowley said flatly, a smile in his eyes.

Aziraphale broke their embrace, confused, to look at Crowley's face.

« Why ? What's wrong with Crocs ? » he asked, and the genuine look on his face made a loud laugh escape Crowley's mouth. Only Aziraphale would not see the problem with Crocs.

« Well, first of all, they're hideous. » Crowley stated, plainly as pure shock took over Aziraphale's expression.

He shook his head and stuttered for a while, searching for the right words, before screeching « They're practical ! And waterproof ! »

« Why do you care so much ? » Crowley asked, still chuckling.

« Because I invented them ! » Aziraphale shrieked, in utter disbelief.

« Ah ! Well, you might be the evil one out of the two of us, after all » Crowley said through irrepressible laughter.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and shook his head but couldn't managed to look even a little bit annoyed at Crowley.

« You're the worst » Aziraphale said, finally, with the same fond smile that didn't seem to want to leave his face.

**Author's Note:**

> "If Crowley could blush he would have"
> 
> I bet my weight in chocolate that Crowley definitely can blush and was beetroot-red at that point


End file.
